


Small Talk

by Rhys (Tathrin)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Legacy of the Force Series - Aaron Allston & Troy Denning & Karen Traviss
Genre: Gen, One-Shot, Post-Legacy of the Force
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-17
Updated: 2010-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-12 18:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tathrin/pseuds/Rhys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a chat between heads-of-state.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Talk

Natasi Daala, newly-appointed Chief of State of the Galactic Alliance, looked up as her next appointment entered her office. For once, she had to resist the urge to grin. The visitor stalked into the room with a soft, menacing metallic jangle. He walked like he owned the place, or didn’t care who did, straight to the two chairs in front of Daala’s desk and stopped next to them. He made an imposing figure in his heavy armor bristling with armaments and a host of useful devices. Daala had given instructions that her security forces were _not_ to attempt to ask him to disarm himself, as was required of all visitors (except Jedi, Daala thought with disgust) to the Chief of State. He had left his ever-present hold-out blaster behind, though. Daala interpreted that as a sign of respect for her rather than for regulations; he was still wearing enough weaponry to level the building and its surrounding neighborhood without breaking a sweat.

Daala couldn’t keep her face from curling slightly in amusement at the sight of her assistant, usually completely unmoved, but now looking rather… _ruffled_ as he grimaced at Daala over her guest’s shoulder. Daala debated whether or not she should tell him that her guest almost literally had eyes—or at least vision sensors—in the back of his head. Maybe later. She nodded for him to speak.

“Er,” he said, “Boba Fett here to see you, ma’am.” His expression was sour. “He has an appointment.”

“I know,” Daala said. Of course she knew. She’d been the one to ask for the meeting. As soon as she’d heard the bounty hunter-turned-planet leader was on Coruscant she’d made sure she had an appointment with him. The proximity was too good an opportunity to pass up. “You can go now,” she told her assistant. “No interruptions.”

He nodded, grimaced again, and disappeared, sealing the door shut behind him. Daala knew that for once _no interruptions_ would be taken literally. Unless full-scale war broke out while Fett was in her office, she’d be left totally undisturbed by the rest of the world, at least if her staff had any say in the matter. If they did have to interrupt, Daala had a feeling they’d be doing it by intercom, far away from the door.

“Hey, Fett,” said Daala. She indicated the chair on the left. “Have a seat. Drink?”

Fett shook his head and sat. He was wearing his jetpack-with-rocket-launcher on his back, so the deep chair wasn’t quite the lush plunge into comfort it usually was. The two chairs in front of her desk looked identical, but one had very soft cushions and the other just looked like it did. Discomfort was one of the tactics she used on people whom she wanted keeping their visits shorts.

“Daala,” Fett said, inclining his head. That was more greeting than one usually got from the terse hunter. “The office seems to agree with you.”

“I had it repainted,” she said, flashing a grin. She settled back in her own chair, abandoning military posture for comfort. She didn’t have to try and intimidate or awe _this_ visitor, and not even stormtroopers fresh out of the academy in the days of the Empire’s glory could match Boba Fett for ramrod spines. Daala didn’t bother to try.

“Lovely color,” said Fett, deadpan. The office was the dull, lifeless grey of Imperial service. Daala had lived too much of her life in its confines to find it anything but comforting. And she liked to rub her history in the faces of her former comrades, especially the moffs. Daala _hated_ moffs. To be fair, though, she liked rubbing it in the faces of some of her former enemies, too. Even the ones she respected.

“I think it brings out my eyes,” said Daala, matching his tone. The hunter tilted his helmet in a way that Daala had learned to read long ago as the equivalent to outright laughter in another being. She’d never seen Fett look what might be called _relaxed_ , but he looked comfortably tense, despite the bulky jetpack. She wasn’t interfering in a hunt, then, by dragging him up to the central halls of government. Good. “So what brings you to Coruscant, anyway? Other than admiring my decorating skills?”

“Business.”

Daala smiled coolly. “I don’t suppose you’d like to go have a visit with Tahiri Veila?” she asked. “The business kind of visit.” Daala had plenty of people she could have sent to bring Veila in, or make her disappear, if she’d really wanted to. She could have hauled her in under arrest at any moment, but she was saving that card for later. One never knew when having leverage over Jedi would be useful, but Daala expected to need it sooner rather than later. But as long as Fett was already _here_ …

“I’m _busy_ ,” said Fett.

“I’m sorry,” said Daala.

She could practically _feel_ Fett bristling. He didn’t want anyone’s sympathy and especially not their pity, horrific though his current circumstances were. But Daala wasn’t offering condescension. She raised an eyebrow. “Oh come on,” she said, “of _course_ I’m sorry; I’d much prefer you to be sitting around bored on some little farm and ready to offer discreet and pricey assistance when the Jedi act up.” Her smile was grim. “And you know they will.”

Fett hesitated, then nodded. _Apology accepted_. He shrugged. “I’m sorry I decided to get creative instead of blasting Jacen Solo’s face off myself.”

Daala leaned back in her chair and stared at the hunter with an appraising eye. “You think you could have taken him?” she asked.

Fett’s reply was cold silence.

Daala raised a hand in surrender. “Okay, you probably could have,” she relented; she’d seen enough evidence of Fett’s talents for handing death to the last people expecting it. “But would _you_ have survived it?”

Fett shrugged. “Uncertain,” he replied.

Daala grinned like a predator. “Then I’d say creative was the way to go. I’d hate for the galaxy to be bereft of your skills during my administration, even if you _are_ busy.”

Fett tilted his head. “Being Mandalore would be pretty ‘busy’ anyway,” he pointed out neutrally.

“I have much bigger coffers than usual,” said Daala, still grinning. “And let’s not rule out the possibility of some…governmental reimbursement. Treaties and trade and the like—whatever Mandalore might require.” She didn’t specify whether she was talking about the planet or the man. She could have meant either, or both.

Fett shrugged again. “Like I said,” he repeated, “I’m busy.”

Daala nodded. “Well, I’m not trying to tempt you into a job right now anyway,” she said. “Haven’t got one for you. Just pointing out that, in case that changes, you might be interested enough in the offer to make it worthwhile for you to at least take my call.”

“Possibly,” said Fett.

Daala smiled wider. The eyes above her grin were hard and cold as space. Tiny lights reflected in them from the overhead glowpanels glittered like stars. “Good enough,” said the Chief of State. “Good enough.” She settled back in her chair and propped her booted feet up on her desk. Her grin settled into a smirk, a little sly, a little teasing. “So how’s Mirta?” she asked. “Enjoying married life?”

Fett’s helmet and rigid body posture hid most emotional reactions from view, but now he shifted just a little, surprised. “Small talk?” he asked. He sounded amused, maybe a little bit incredulous—again, the helmet made it hard to tell, but Daala had known the hunter for years. She was a bit better at reading him than the average galactic citizen and besides, he probably wasn’t bothering to conceal it.

Daala shrugged. “The more time I spend in _this_ meeting,” she said, “the longer it is until I have to talk to the usual run of idiots, senators, and moffs.”

“Aren’t those three words for one thing?” Fett asked mildly.

Daala snorted. “See? Your small talk is so much better than the usual crap I have to put up with.” Her face twitched with amusement. “Besides, I bet you can use the practice,” she said. Natasi Daala was one of very few people not wearing a T-shaped visor who had the penchant—and the guts—to tease Boba Fett. “Make it easier when you have to sit and chat with the in-laws, hmm?”

Fett stared at her and said nothing.

Daala grinned, unrepentant. “Come on,” she said, “lose the helmet, have a drink. I’ve got all the security cams turned off in here and the place was scanned for bugs ten minutes before you got here. Scan it yourself, if you want.” She held up her hands. “What’s the harm?”

“I’d think the Chief of State would have more pressing concerns.”

Daala waved a hand dismissively. “If I don’t take _some_ illicit advantage of my new power,” she said, “what kind of a ruler would I be?” Daala had no intentions of abusing her rank, but no one was entirely selfless, and no one could live on duty alone. If she wanted to arbitrarily clear her schedule in the middle of the day for idle chit-chat with a well-known killer and leader of a bunch of dangerous thugs, that was her prerogative. Her underlings would just have to deal with the bizarre whim; that was what they were paid for. “I’m not keeping you from anything important, am I?” she asked when the hunter still didn’t move.

“No,” he admitted. “It’ll be at least another day before I have the results I'm waiting on.” Ah, Daala thought, so he was here to work on the nanovirus problem. Daala wondered if she ought to see if her own people could turn up anything useful that might leave Fett owing her one, or wait and see if he asked for assistance. Well, she could think about it; he wasn't going anywhere until he had the data he wanted.

“So you’re just killing time,” said Daala. She swung her feet off the desk and stood up. She walked over to a small cabinet tucked up against the wall and pulled out two crystal glasses and a decanter of amber colored liquid. “Might as well kill it here,” she suggested. The glasses clinked faintly when she set them down on the desk. 

Fett hesitated another minute then shrugged. “Might as well,” he said, reaching up to flick the catches on his helmet.

Daala grinned as she poured. “So,” she said, “how’s Mirta enjoying married life?”


End file.
